did leave Jerusalem...
âI really did leave it. It was storming outside, and everyone in the bus kept talking about how it was going to snow ... about how it just
had
to snow ... and I thought, well, thatâs it, itâs over with, what do I care, maybe I really did just imagine it, and anyway, I have to go home, I canât spend the rest of my life chasing after him. The bus was already speeding down the mountains toward the coast, there was nothing but fog all around, and right outside the city we drove into such a thick cloud of it that you couldnât see a thing ... at which point, the bus suddenly turned off the highway into a side road. Mr. Mani, it seemed, had been so eager to get rid of me that he had put me on the local instead of the express! We started winding through the fog, in and out of all kinds of villages. Everything was dripping wet outside, it was all so green and damp, and every now and then some hillside popped out of the fog into the window. It was sleeting too, and I thought, if itâs like this halfway to the coast, there must be snow in Jerusalemâthe same snow Mr. Mani warned me about but was also looking forward to, maybe because then he could lock himself up in that railroad flat, and switch off all the lights, and turn up the heat, and take off his clothes, and open the blinds box in Grandmotherâs room, and take the belt off the pulley, and knot one end of it, and kick away the stool, and bye-bye Mr. Mani...
âYes, Mother. I couldnât stop thinking about it. The more we drove in and out on those roads outside of Jerusalem, the more it haunted me, so that when the bus finally rejoined the main highway and picked up speed again on the soft curves of those woodsy hills near the bottom of the mountains, and I knew that in another minute we would be flying over the coastal plain, something rebelled inside me, Mother, and I stood up in my seat...
âYes. What rebelled was my desperation at having been made to leave Jerusalem against my will. I stood up all at once, and something propelled me to the front of the bus, and I said to the driver, âIâm very sorry, sir, but Iâll have to ask you to stop and let me out, because Iâm pregnant and all this speed is bad for me and the baby...â
âYes, the baby too. Donât ask me what made me say it...
âIâm telling you, I did. Whatâs wrong with it?
âBut what did I say?
âNo, he was very nice about it. He slowed down a little and suggested that I move to the front of the bus, because itâs not as bouncy there, but when he saw that I was determined to get off, he didnât argue. He stopped right at the bottom of the mountains, near that gas station there, and opened the door and said âWatch your stepâ and drove off into all that rain and fog. There was this total silence all around, and without thinking twice about it, Mother, or knowing what made me do it, I crossed to the other, the
contrary
side of the road, and headed for that old ruined building there, you know, the one where the road starts climbing back into the mountains...
âYes. Someone once told me it was an old Arab khan where travelers to Jerusalem stopped to rest their horses. Anyway, there they were, waiting for me in the stillness ... I mean that author or that director with his big black camera. Apparently, I had forgotten that we had arranged to meet there, and they were sitting on a stone terrace next to some dripping-wet trees, their heads in their hands just like yours isâdonât look at me that way, Mother, I promise you Iâm not going crazy ... Shhh ... shhh ... someone is knocking ... donât move...
âNo.
Donât move.
Who can it be?
âIt doesnât matter. Never mind. So you wonât answer for once in your life ... so what?
âNo, donât get up...
âWould you rather I stopped?
âBut whatâs the matter?
âNo ... no
âI really did leave it. It was storming outside, and everyone in the bus kept talking about how it was going to snow ... about how it just
had
to snow ... and I thought, well, thatâs it, itâs over with, what do I care, maybe I really did just imagine it, and anyway, I have to go home, I canât spend the rest of my life chasing after him. The bus was already speeding down the mountains toward the coast, there was nothing but fog all around, and right outside the city we drove into such a thick cloud of it that you couldnât see a thing ... at which point, the bus suddenly turned off the highway into a side road. Mr. Mani, it seemed, had been so eager to get rid of me that he had put me on the local instead of the express! We started winding through the fog, in and out of all kinds of villages. Everything was dripping wet outside, it was all so green and damp, and every now and then some hillside popped out of the fog into the window. It was sleeting too, and I thought, if itâs like this halfway to the coast, there must be snow in Jerusalemâthe same snow Mr. Mani warned me about but was also looking forward to, maybe because then he could lock himself up in that railroad flat, and switch off all the lights, and turn up the heat, and take off his clothes, and open the blinds box in Grandmotherâs room, and take the belt off the pulley, and knot one end of it, and kick away the stool, and bye-bye Mr. Mani...
âYes, Mother. I couldnât stop thinking about it. The more we drove in and out on those roads outside of Jerusalem, the more it haunted me, so that when the bus finally rejoined the main highway and picked up speed again on the soft curves of those woodsy hills near the bottom of the mountains, and I knew that in another minute we would be flying over the coastal plain, something rebelled inside me, Mother, and I stood up in my seat...
âYes. What rebelled was my desperation at having been made to leave Jerusalem against my will. I stood up all at once, and something propelled me to the front of the bus, and I said to the driver, âIâm very sorry, sir, but Iâll have to ask you to stop and let me out, because Iâm pregnant and all this speed is bad for me and the baby...â
âYes, the baby too. Donât ask me what made me say it...
âIâm telling you, I did. Whatâs wrong with it?
âBut what did I say?
âNo, he was very nice about it. He slowed down a little and suggested that I move to the front of the bus, because itâs not as bouncy there, but when he saw that I was determined to get off, he didnât argue. He stopped right at the bottom of the mountains, near that gas station there, and opened the door and said âWatch your stepâ and drove off into all that rain and fog. There was this total silence all around, and without thinking twice about it, Mother, or knowing what made me do it, I crossed to the other, the
contrary
side of the road, and headed for that old ruined building there, you know, the one where the road starts climbing back into the mountains...
âYes. Someone once told me it was an old Arab khan where travelers to Jerusalem stopped to rest their horses. Anyway, there they were, waiting for me in the stillness ... I mean that author or that director with his big black camera. Apparently, I had forgotten that we had arranged to meet there, and they were sitting on a stone terrace next to some dripping-wet trees, their heads in their hands just like yours isâdonât look at me that way, Mother, I promise you Iâm not going crazy ... Shhh ... shhh ... someone is knocking ... donât move...
âNo.
Donât move.
Who can it be?
âIt doesnât matter. Never mind. So you wonât answer for once in your life ... so what?
âNo, donât get up...
âWould you rather I stopped?
âBut whatâs the matter?
âNo ... no
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